


I'll Follow Your Lead

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [219]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Memories, Paladins on Vacation, drunk!shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-06 16:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17348750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Their first kiss is fierce, soaked in sweat and the sort of sheer terror that comes from waging war in the hungry darkness of space.





	1. Chapter 1

Their first kiss is fierce, soaked in sweat and the sort of sheer terror that comes from waging war in the hungry darkness of space. Shiro’s still holding his helmet, for crying out loud, and he can still taste the blood in his mouth from where a cannon’s bolt punched the Black Lion on its side, his head ringing off the controls and yet Keith doesn’t seem to notice or care; he’s licking between Shiro’s lips and groaning when their tongues meet and everything about this is bad, Shiro’s head is telling him, everything about this is nine kinds of wrong but that is his hand in Keith’s hair, his fingers holding on for dear life, his body pinned between Keith’s and the bulkhead just inside the Black Lion’s jaw, his heart roaring in his ears, his choice not to push Keith away.

“Sorry,” Keith says the instant they part, his face the color of flame. “But if you ever do something that stupid again, Shiro, I swear, I'll--!”

“You needed cover.” He’s surprised that he can speak.

“I was fine. Red can take it.”

They’re standing too close and it’s only a matter of time before the others come looking and Shiro’s hand is still holding Keith’s head, his thumb stroking through unruly silk.

“A battle is a group effort, Keith. Not a personal endurance test.”

Keith isn’t listening. Keith never does, except when he absorbs every syllable and take it straight to his heart.

No, Keith’s staring at his mouth again, his grip on Shiro’s shoulders tightening.

“Shiro?” he says softly. “Gods, did I really just--?”

There’s a clatter in the hanger, a call of voices--their teammates, in search of--and Keith jerks away, his face pale now, his eyes dark, darker, and wide.

Fear, Shiro tells himself later in the quiet of his cabin. That’s all that it was. Keith was afraid and he needed reassurance and so he’d stormed in and done...that. It didn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t.

_It won’t_.

The words don’t bring him any solace, though. And neither, when the night is at its darkest, does his hand.

He feels ashamed, after. Keith’s his charge. Keith’s his friend. Keith’s one of the handful of people in the universe that he trusts to see this vital mission--the overthrow of the Galra, the defeat of Zarkon, the liberation of occupied space--through to the end.

All that’s bigger than one kiss borne of the heat of battle, wasn’t it? One reckless moment when he should have said _no,_ when he should have said _stop_ , when he should’ve felt revulsion instead of a sort of primal certainty, a circuit inside his messed-up head that closed, that made him feel, however fleeting, complete.

Shame burns in his belly. He turns his face to the pillow. Dreams of warm sand, the night heat of the desert, the soft slip of Keith's hair in his hand.  
  


*****  
  


Guilt. That’s what marks their second kiss, because this time, Shiro sees it coming and lets it happen anyway.

They’re on a lush tropical planet, Azur, the sort of world soaked in sunshine and blue waters and sweet-smelling air. It’s a marvel, really, that the Galra hadn’t destroyed the world just out of spite; it has no resources, the local governor tells them cheerfully, except for its beauty. Even in these troubled times, Azur’s remained something of an idyll, a place where for a fee beings from across the universe steal a few days of peace.

“No charges for you and yours, though,” the Governor tells him, her eyestalks bobbing merrily. “Having our part of the sector free of those Galra”--the translator chokes on what sounds like an expletive--“to us, Paladin Black, is payment for now that’s enough.”

“For now?” Lance says, a hand cocked on his hip. “Lady, we just saved your bacon!”

“Bacon?” the Governor repeats in shaky Standard. “What is this?”

“This,” Shiro says before Lance can get his mouth open, “is us being grateful for your hospitality, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Um hello?” Hunk says the moment the Governor bobbles happily away. “Did that gentlebeing just offer us a vacation? And did Shiro just _accept_?”

They’re all grinning when he turns, all up on their toes and eager. Even Allura looks pleased. Coran looks damn well overjoyed.

“We could all use a rest,” he says. “A few days on the beach. What do you say?”

Pidge hugs him. Lance claps him on the back way too hard. Coran pumps his hand.

And Keith? He doesn’t say anything. Just gives Shiro a smile, small and pleased, the same one Shiro remembers from Earth, from the Garrison, from the first time Shiro handed him the keys to a Garrison speeder.

“Where should we go?” Keith had said, his face brighter than Shiro had ever seen.

Shiro had shrugged. “We can go wherever you want. The desert’s all yours. I’ll follow your lead.”

The kid’s grin had gone sneaky and he’d slipped onto the bike, made a big show of slipping the keys into the ignition. “You will, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Well, you’d better hurry up.” The roar of the starter, another flash of white teeth. “‘Cause looky here: I’m already gone.”

That same smile now, turning away, swept in the tide of their friends.

“I wonder if they have any nude beaches here.”

“Oh, barf, Lance. Nobody needs to see that. Any of that.”

“You guys are gonna lay around? Come on! The Azurix’s Hall of Memory looks amazing.”

“The museum thing? Pfft. Forget it, Pidge. You’re nerding out on your own.”

“Good. That means I don’t have to see you naked.”

“Nobody needs to see him naked! Quiznak, now that image is like burned into my retinas. I need some brain bleach. And a lobotomy.”

Shiro shakes his head--now he’s the one grinning--and sets off to catch up.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Governor gives them three stayhouses just off the sands of the ocean. Three houses and, as far Shiro and Allura can figure--the Azurix tongue isn’t easy to follow--twice as many days to use them as they see fit.

“A week of nobody shooting at us?” Hunk says as they climb up the beach and halt at the head of a little rise.

“A movement of this view,” Allura sighs. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a sunset so beautiful.”

“Six days,” Lance says, his face split in a grin. “That sounds like a lifetime.”

Allura, Pidge, and Hunk take the first house; Keith, Lance, and Coran the second; and somehow, by a process Shiro can’t really follow, they give him the last for his own.

“Guys, no,” he says as Pidge and Lance practically drag him inside. “I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but there’s no reason I can’t share.”

Pidge grins up at him, her glasses already streaked with sand. “Sure there is. We don’t want you to.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “You deserve this. If anybody on this team needs some serious R&R, it’s you.” He laughs. “Besides, Keith says you snore like a drunken bear.”

Shiro’s cheeks go hot. “I do _not_!”

“Really?” Keith’s lounging in the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression undeniably fond. “‘Cause I remember once when we went camping in the desert, your snores freaked out the coyotes for like miles around.”

“Ok, that is a serious exaggeration.”

“How would you know?” Pidge says. “Weren’t you asleep?”

“Yeah. Were you counting wolves instead of sheep, _el capitan_?”

“Coyotes aren’t wolves, Lance.”

“Shut up and roll with my metaphor, jerk.”

“All of you,” Shiro says, aping stern but cut through with a stupid smile. “Shut up and get out of my cabin. Let me start my vacation in peace.”

They meet by the water at dusk, the excitement of the day pleasantly draining away with the heat. There’s a sweet breeze from the trees and everyone is out of uniform--some more out than others--and there’s good, simple food, a bottle of Azurix wine that claims Coran as its first casualty.

“Let him sleep,” Allura says when he passes out in the sand, arms wrapped dreamily around driftwood, the mice curled up on his head. “I suspect that he very much needs it.”

She’s dressed in something that looks spun from gossamer and air and her hair’s tied back from her face and she looks more at ease than Shiro’s ever seen her. Honestly, everyone does.

They’ve had times before when they’ve simply hung out, spent long evenings at their own devices in the lounge, but this is the first time Shiro can remember when they’ve really _been_ together, focused not on the latest problem or solitary diversion but on each other, on existing for a few, quiet moments within the same space. It’s like being Voltron, sort of, except without the pressure of battle; there’s just the sky and the water and the seven of them and it’s peaceful. That’s what it is. For a little while, at least.

“Shiro?” Hunk says, his face framed by the light of Azur’s twin moons. “We’re gonna get in the water. Wanna come?”

He’s on his feet and out of his shirt in a tick--a little wobbly, maybe, but that’s only the wine. “Hell yes!”

He doesn’t realize how buzzed he is until he hits the water, until the soft chill of it slaps the heat of his skin. He gasps and dives under the surface, soaks his head until the chill starts to fade.

“Gods,” he says to the stars when he bobs back up, his whole body a smile, “that feels amazing.”

“Yeah,” a voice says at his shoulder, “it does, doesn’t it?”

Shiro spins, his laughter ringing out over the waves. “Keith. I thought you hated the water.”

“Hate’s a strong word. Never had much exposure to it, that’s all. Pretty sure pools don’t count.”

“I thought you didn’t know how to swim.”

Keith’s lips turn up a touch. “Yeah, well. While you were gone, I learned.”

“Oh.” Shiro had forgotten that, for a moment. How long he’s been away. “Right.”

Somewhere, he can hear their friends laughing and splashing, the sound of their happy shouts crystal clear in the still of the night, but it seems that the pound of his heart is louder, the sound of his breathing, the quiet splash the water makes where it’s kissing Keith’s chest. In the moons’ light, Keith’s eyes are glowing and there are stars strung in his hair and the turn of his shoulders is iridescent, electric; Shiro aches to reach out and touch.

“Keith,” he says again. The word different now, weighted. “Keith, I--”

Keith’s fingers find his face, cradle it. Shiro makes a sound he doesn’t recognize.

“Let’s get out of the water, huh?” Keith says quietly. “I’ll walk you home.”

When they emerge from the ocean, nobody notices. Nor when they walk up the little rise from the beach, and by the time they’ve walked the twenty paces to Shiro’s sharehouse, he knows exactly where they’re going, what they’ve both somehow agreed is bound to happen next.

Keith opens the door and holds out his hand.

“Shiro,” he says. “Come here.”

Where has the boy gone, the one Shiro left on Earth? The one who hugged him so fiercely at the spaceport then pulled away, unwilling to let Shiro see his tears?

But then, where's the man gone that Shiro was then? The one who thought he had to set what was dear aside, always; the one who’d been made to believe that love and a sense of purpose, of mission, could never occupy the same space?

Both of those people, the beings they were, are lost now, swept away by the unforgiving march of time and by this, by this, their greedy second kiss. Greedy he’s barely inside the door before Keith has him back up against it, those long, tapered fingers sliding up his chest and curving around to his back and his own find Keith’s hair, drown in it, great lengths of it in each fist.

Any last petals of guilt fall away, any last sense of _we shouldn’t_ smashed beneath their bare feet as Keith moans and leans back into his grip, the sweet column of his throat exposed.

“No, no,” Shiro mumbles. “C’mere. Kiss me.”

Keith’s hips kick and now it’s Shiro who’s groaning. “Make me,” Keith says, his nails digging into the small of Shiro’s back. “You want it so bad, then take it.”

There’s no thought then, only instinct; only the memory of Keith’s mouth on his, the roaring need to feel it again, so he pulls and he pitches and he takes back what every cell in his body says is his and his reward is Keith’s lips parting, Keith trembling in his arms, Keith going exquisitely still when Shiro gets a hand between them and palms the solid line of his cock.

“Like that?” Shiro whispers, bold in the heat and the dark. “Is this what you want me to take?”

Keith whines, a whine that turns up into a growl when Shiro squeezes him and nips at his neck “Fuck, Shiro,” he manages, “can’t you tell? Everything about me is yours.”

They end up on the bed, shorts abandoned and skin fused to skin, Keith arching beneath him, bucking eagerly into the turn of his fist. The bed’s ridiculously soft and they’re sinking into it despite the catch of his Galra hand, the strain of the arm that is him and not him and Keith’s hands are busy, too, clawing and clutching at Shiro’s neck, his ass, his biceps, holding on as if for dear life.

“I want you to come like this,” Shiro hears himself say, the words dark and sweet in Keith’s ear. “Can you do that for me, baby? Will you let me feel your come on my skin?”

“Oh, god,” Keith gasps. Shiro can feel his balls twitch, feel how tight they are, how full. “Oh, _god_ , Shiro.”

“Tell me.”

“I can do that.”

“Do what?”

“I can come like this. On your skin. Want you to feel it.” Keith turns his head, drags his mouth against Shiro’s cheek. “Want you to know how good you make me feel. Always have. Always wanted you to--”

There’s a heat in Shiro’s body that scares him, something more than desire, more even than need, and even in his stupor, drunk on unfamiliar wine and these strange circumstances, he knows that if he lets Keith keep talking, that heat will bloom in him, turn its face up and out of the places he’s tried to keep quiet, tried to ignore for so long, and he’ll never get away from it then, never be able to touch Keith’s mind in the Voltron meld again without giving it voice and everybody knowing and oh, gods, does he want that. Fuck, he wants that so bad.

But there’s part of him that’s still sober, that’s still aware of how selfish it would be to let himself feel it, how much he loves Keith, because it would take up so much room in his head and he needs to focus on the team, on saving the universe, not on what would make him happy. If he feels it, if he says it, Keith will look at him like this all the time, adoring, like he’s the moon and the stars all in one; will touch him like this, possessive, his fingers sliding over skin and tech like they belong to him, like Shiro’s his, and how the hell is Shiro supposed to save anybody when all he’ll want to do is protect the boy who’s beneath him--not a boy, not the same angry kid he left behind at the Garrison, but a man old enough to know what he wants.

“Always have,” Keith pants, his hips caught in a stutter. “Fuck, Shiro, always wanted you to--”

Shiro presses their foreheads together and bites back _I love you_ and loosens his grip, then tightens it suddenly, gives his hand a hard twist, and Keith keens, a high, desperate sound that peaks in quick, sticky heat and then Keith’s kissing him frantic, moaning into Shiro’s mouth as as Shiro works out every last spurt and fuck, there’s so much of it, like Keith hasn’t let go in ages and oh gods, Shiro needs to come so bad that it hurts.

He lets go of Keith’s cock and reaches for his own and Keith’s still kissing him, knees now drawn up in a cradle around Shiro’s hips. His arms are around Shiro’s neck and he’s moving with him, shifting his body in time with the bounce of each stroke and this, Shiro thinks stupidly, is what it would be like to fuck him, to push in and be buried so deep; Keith would hold him like this and stroke his hair and murmur soft things between kisses, softer the harder Shiro fucked him and it takes all the willpower he has left not to find a way in now but he’s so close, gods, he’s so--

“Come on,” Keith whispers against his chin, “let me feel it.”

The world goes black for a moment, black and gray and red, and then there’s light, so much light, and at the center of it is Keith’s smile, a thing he can see and feel, and there’s sound everywhere, a breathless sort of roar, and he’s chanting Keith’s name as a litany again and again and again.

“Yeah,” Keith says in his ear, his hands sweeping over Shiro’s back, sliding through the sand and the sweat. “I’m here, Shiro. Right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps one more installment left in this utterly self-indulgent fic? Perhaps.


End file.
